No Refunds, No Exchanges
by breatheinsync
Summary: Olivia Pope, Fitzgerald Grant III and another little helping of normal, featuring Target this time.


Olivia stared for a moment at the row of paper towels in Target, wandering until she found the thick kind with tiny flowers on them. There was something about the absolute uselessness of decorations on things used to clean spills that appealed to her. Grabbing two, she placed them neatly in her cart, standing them up near the corner. She pushed the cart further down the aisle, turning the corner toward the dental hygiene row. As she contemplated whether she needed another replacement toothbrush head for her electric toothbrush, she heard the quiet buzzing of her cell phone inside her purse. The number filled her with an instant feeling of pleasure.

"Hi," she spoke, holding the phone between ear and shoulder as she turned back toward the replacement heads, pursing her lips in thought before finding the one she wanted.

"Hi," he answered, his voice comfortable, warmth filling the small word.

"Aren't you supposed to be at a dinner with the Ambassador to Guatemala?"

"He cancelled at the last minute to deal with the flood situation in his home country. I'm a man without a date."

"That's quite the tragedy," she said, her tone clearly informing him that she had no sympathy, only humor, in response.

"Mhmm," he added.

"Well, I'm at Target, very busily deciding whether or not I need whitening mouthwash if I already have whitening toothpaste."

"That sounds like quite a conundrum," he added, the smile on his face audible through the phone. She had to stop herself from letting out a little sigh of happiness.

For someone who had grown up thinking of "normal" with a certain level of contempt, believing it to the polar opposite of living a life full of meaning, she was getting closer and closer to settling into what they'd begun to work towards. Each day brought her closer toward a life with him and she still felt a sliver of fear that she would lose herself in the pursuit of being together. But every batch of lemon ricotta pancakes made on a Saturday morning while she wore his raggedy NAVY t-shirt made it easier. Every silly argument over what was for dinner (_Cheeseburgers, he demanded; pad thai, she whined. Italian, they compromised_) soothed.

She placed the toothbrush head in the cart as she maneuvered it toward the next aisle before she stopped suddenly, slowly turning in a circle. How had she missed it before? It was so glaringly obvious.

"Does it?" she asked, her tone changing as the knowledge dawned on her.

"Mhmm, it seems like you should consult a second opinion," he answered, but this time, the echo of his words was unmistakable. Closing her eyes in pure joy, she turned until she was facing him. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans, a chambray shirt tucked into the waistband, comfortable. That simple sight shouldn't have made her want him instantly, but it did. She didn't bother to disguise her happiness as she moved to him, standing a single step away, just in arms' reach.

"And you're an expert in the field of dental hygiene?"

"I'm more familiar with the fine art of oral pleasure."

She quirked an eyebrow in reply, putting her hands on her hips to show that she wasn't particularly impressed. But when he laughed foolishly at his own joke, unable to take himself seriously, she moved forward, brushing her mouth lazily over his.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"How'd you know I was here?"

"I had my people call your people."

"I am my people," she retorted."

"It's Thursday. I remembered."

"You closed down an entire Target for no reason."

"On the contrary, I had very good reasons. You're out of peanut butter," he told her, his arms sliding around her waist, one resting on her lower back, the other flat against the curve of her spine, pulling her body flush against his.

"How would I know this if I don't eat the peanut butter?" she asked, her voice getting lower, quieter, as his mouth slid along her jawline.

"Touché," he answered, before nipping at the bottom of her earlobe, tugging on it for just a second before easing himself back. Though he had a particularly vivid flash of pressing her up against the side of the aisle until her legs were wrapped around his waist, he held back, told himself to savor the time they had together in little sips rather than his usually greedy gulps.

With a grin, he walked to her cart, putting his hands on the handle before getting a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"I wonder if I've still got it," he said, leaning forward into it before sliding a foot onto the bottom part of the cart, turning it toward the rest of the aisle before pushing himself off with the foot still on the ground, laughing with abandon as he sped forward down the aisle.

Olivia's let out a burst of laughter, surprise turning into radiance as she saw him being silly. She had only seen this side of him when he was with his children and it pleased her to see it now, with her. As he whooshed out of the aisle into the wide center of the store, she heard the loud voices of the Secret Service agents.

"Mr. President, what?" Tom asked before setting off in a run until Fitz stopped, feigning a sheepish look though Olivia knew he had not one apologetic bone in his body.

Standing back on two feet again, Fitz looked around.

"Peanut butter?"

"Aisle four, sir."

"Thanks, Tom."

Olivia walked to where he stood, offering Tom a smile. The man grinned at her in response and she could almost see him putting in the effort of not shaking his head at Fitz. Sliding her arm through his, she guided him in the direction of the food.

On the way there, they passed through the clothing section, womens, teens, and then children. She focused on moving forward, refusing to look at the section of baby clothes. Even without turning to view them, she could feel the little onesies and other bits pulling at her heartstrings.

But Fitz stopped her with a light pull on her arm..

"Stop for a second."

"Fitz, I really need to finish shopping. I still have work to do for my client when I get home."

"It's just a moment," he reminded her, before picking up a tiny pink pair of running sneakers, holding them up in her direction. "I always forget how small they are, now that Teddy's growing up so fast."

Her smile polite, a little tight around the mouth, and he could see that she had closed herself off to him.

"They're cute," she replied.

"Don't you ever think about it?" he asked, looking directly at her, meeting her eyes. He didn't just mean children. He meant a life together, with him. Fully together, all-in, joint-taxes, shared laundry duty, carpool lanes.

"Sometimes. But not now," she said before looking away, moving back and placing her hands on the cart again. She wheeled it back toward the food section, leaving everything unsaid. She couldn't explain to him how she wanted a real marriage with him, a real family for some future baby to be brought into. More so, she feared that she wouldn't be a good mother, that she didn't have that nurturing gene that came so naturally for Fitz. She resented what-if's that were based upon emotions because she wasn't sure that these were things she could fix. But she couldn't share this with him because he's soothe her and she needed to deal with them on her own. She needed to fix it by herself.

She felt him kiss her shoulder from behind gently as she grabbed the jar of the crunchy peanut butter that she knew he liked, putting it in the top part of the cart. In the area where the child would sit, if they'd had one. With a cleansing breath, she pushed it out of her mind as they wandered through the store, arguing with him that she didn't need another wall hanging for her hallway, firmly maintaining that the brand of popcorn she bought was the only kind worth having.

He didn't pressure her or try to make her talk about her feelings, and she realized how far they'd both come. Before, he would've argued her thoughts out, pushed, needled, wheedled her personal issues out of her. But now, he let her have the time to work through them on her own. Because they had the time. He had changed for her. It made her feel brave.

On their way back to the counter, she picked up the tiny pink pair of running sneakers, avoiding his eyes before putting them on top of the jar of peanut butter. He didn't speak, couldn't past the lump of sentiment lodged in his throat at her gesture.

"_Don't you ever think about?__"_ he'd asked.

As the little ping of the register sounded out when the cashier rang up the pink shoes, it sounded like a vow of _I do. _

* * *

**A/N: So another friend asked for Olivia, Fitz and Target. And since I LOVE Target, much to my wallet's chagrin, it was a lot of fun! I hope you enjoy. I know it's sappy and happy, but I'll make up for it with the next "The Other Minutes."**


End file.
